The Season
by KateMonster
Summary: The Christmases of past collide with the Chrismukkah of present as Ryan tries to survive another holiday season and all the baggage that it entails. Spoilers through "The Best Chrismukkah Ever".


**_December 12, 2004: _**_For the holidays this year I decided to at least fix the formatting on this story. The text is still the same, just in a new, improved format not blundered by Enjoy!_**  
**

**"The Season"**

Author: Kate Monster

Rating: PG-13 for language.

Summary: The Christmases of past collide with the Chrismukkah of present as Ryan tries to survive another holiday season and all the baggage that it entails. Spoilers through "The Best Chrismukkah Ever".

Thanks to the TWOP Ryan-thread for assistance and continued support!

**December 25, 2003. 12:50 p.m.**

"There you are!"

Ryan dragged himself off the bed as Seth came bounding in, breathless. He pulled the headphones out of his ears and the music slowly faded away. "And where did you think I was?"

Seth ignored him. "Okay. So. Here's the schedule. The Chinese food is due here in twenty minutes. We enjoy a brief, thirty-minute meal, followed by the gift exchange in the living - oops." He clapped a hand to his mouth. "Nothing."

Ryan sighed. "Too late for that. I already saw the fourteen packages with my name on them."

Seth put his hands up apologetically. "Dude. You know how my mom is. She's Caleb Nichols' daughter. If she wants to shop for you, nothing's stopping her."

Ryan eyed him warily. "Two of 'em were from you."

"Yeah, well, that Mom, always writing my name..."

"Seth?"

"Yup?"

"Can it." Ryan flopped to the edge of the bed and threw his head over the side. He felt the blood rushing in to his face as he hung upside down. He dragged out the cardboard box and pulled out three packages, all identically wrapped in candy cane paper and scotch tape. "Just go shove these under there already."

"All right!" Seth yelped, then stopped himself. "I meant-" He shook the first package. "Huh. Intriguing and interesting."

"I'll be right behind you. Give me a couple of minutes."

Seth pursed his lips and nodded. "Are you gonna open those?"

Ryan followed his gaze to the counter, where the green and blue packages sat undisturbed with their brightly colored bows.

"Do you want to bring them inside, or-?"

"Eh," Ryan said casually, "I'll probably open them later."

"Whatever you want," was Seth's quiet reply. He loaded the packages into his arms and danced out the door, whistling something that sounded disturbingly like "If I Were a Rich Man". Ryan frowned at his back, taking a moment to contemplate the irony, then shook his head in amazement. If nothing else, you had to give Seth credit for the entertainment factor.

Once Seth and the godforsaken candy cane packages were out of sight, Ryan slowly walked over to the counter.

He peeled back the tags to read them again. Both in Dawn's handwriting. "To Ryan - Merry Christmas. Love, Trey." And the second. "To Ryan - Merry Christmas. Love, Mom." At least she had the decency to put 'Mom'. Even if she really wasn't anymore. Did Trey even know what was in the package with his name on it? Maybe he did. Mom still talked to _him_. All Ryan got was a package and a "Love, Mom". Wouldn't even face him.

But it was fine, because here he was in Newport, and there was Seth, his arms full of gifts and Chrismukkah cheer, and Sandy and Kirsten with their stockings and their Stallone movies. Maybe the key to holiday cheer really was being away from his mom. It couldn't hurt...

**December 25, 1997. 4:32 a.m.**

"What time is it?"

"The fuck. It's four-thirty a.m. Shut up."

Ryan wiggled under the covers. Trey had moved the space heater closer to his own bed, making Ryan's that much colder.

"D'you think I'll get my bike?"

Silence.

"Trey?"

"There's no such thing as Santa."

Ryan rolled his eyes in the darkness. "No kidding. You told me that last year. And the year before. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever got to believe in Santa. No fair."

"No, but you sure do believe in being a pest about it. It's the middle of the fucking night. Christ. Go to sleep."

Ryan felt the adrenaline pumping in his system. It was no good. Sleep was not in the forecast. "Maybe I should go peek."

"Where the hell is Mom gonna get you a bike, you little prick? She can barely afford the heating bill."

"Yeah, but..." Ryan fought for the words. "It's Christmas. Dad always-"

"Dad's not here," Trey snapped, and Ryan bit his lip back in the darkness.

He lowered his voice. "Jesus, Trey. No need to get all rude about it."

He listened to Trey's heavy breathing for a few moments.

"Merry Christmas, kid."

"You, too," Ryan whispered back.

Maybe Trey was right. There was a lot less money this year. But that's how it was last year... and there were presents last year...

Then again, maybe last year was a bad example.

In fact...

"Trey?"

There was a silence as Trey flipped over in a huff. "_What_?"

Ryan frowned. "D'you think Mom is sad? About it being Christmas?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, do you think?" Ryan pressed on.

"Maybe."

He licked his lips. "Trey?"

"I swear to god. If you don't shut up, I will kick your ass. To Mars. No. To Jupiter. Swear. On my life."

"I know. But - are you sad?"

"No."

It was harsh. Ryan felt his hand drift upward, toward his mouth. He didn't suck his thumb anymore, he hadn't since he was seven, but sometimes he couldn't help it and wanted to. No. He was too big for that now.

In one quick, sudden movement he leapt up from the bed.

"Fuckin' A, man, what are you doing?"

"Peeking."

With one determined move, Ryan yanked the door open. If Mom asked, he could always say he was going to the toil-

There she was.

Asleep.

On the sofa.

He crept closer. Her eyes still looked red. The ice in her glass was melting on the coffee table beside her. She hadn't. She had.

She hadn't.

Ryan surveyed the room with growing despair.

"Mom?"

No tree. No lights, no presents, cookies, nothing.

"Mama?"

The wave hit him all at once as he figured it out, and he stumbled backwards, blinded. No. He turned and skittered back into the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

"You happy now?" Trey grunted at him from the darkness.

Ryan said nothing. He crept in the direction of his bed, groping blindly, trembling.

"C'mon, _now_ you keep me in suspense? Didya get your bike or not?"

He found the words. "No."

"Sorry, kid."

Ryan found the bed and burrowed himself into it, under the covers. He laid back and stared at the ceiling. He felt much older all of a sudden. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Yeah," he whispered softly. "Me, too."

**December 25, 2003. 1:15 p.m.**

"Have a seat, fellas, the latkes are coming right up!"

Ryan gazed quizzically at Seth, who was already curling up underneath the blanket in the armchair.

"Oh, come on," Seth chided, "you are _not_ that culturally ignorant."

Ryan raised an eyebrow at him.

"Okay. Wow. You are. Okay. D'you like potatoes?"

"Sure."

"You want to make my dad happy?"

"Okay."

"Eat up."

Ryan uttered a small snort as he claimed a spot on the couch. "So we're down to the last movie, right? What's this one about, a violin or something?"

Seth's eyebrows shot up in horror and he issued a noise that sounded vaguely like air being sucked down a vacuum. "It's only the classic musical of the downfall of the Jewish culture in Bolshevik Russia. Or something."

Ryan wrinkled his nose. "And it's a _musical_?"

"Hey! I thought you were into that kind of thing."

"Nah, too minty." Ryan kept a straight deadpan face even as he managed to get a vocal laugh out of Seth.

"Why, is that me I see, rubbing off on you?"

"Like I told you yesterday. I think I'm pretty advanced by now in the ways of Seth Cohen."

"Well, prepare to meet my tribe." Seth began to whistle again. "Deidle-deedle-deidle..."

"Oh," Ryan said with a dawning realization. "_That's_ from this movie?"

Seth snapped his fingers and pointed at Ryan. "See? You're not that ignorant."

"We sang this in seventh grade chorus," Ryan said, before stopping himself. He caught Seth's curious stare and cleared his throat. "Ah, that is, I have no idea where I heard such a - a minty tune before. Right." Seth shook his head.

"Kirsten!" Sandy bellowed from the doorway, causing both boys to jump. They turned to see him bearing a spatula in one hand and a frying pan full of something that Ryan found rather white and mushy and unappealing in the other. "Latkes," he offered in a normal tone, grinning.

"Let me try one," Ryan said, leaning forward with an effort at enthusiasm.

"Sure!" Sandy dropped one onto a paper plate. "Fresh from the griddle. Do you want apple sauce, or sour cream?"

"On potatoes?" Ryan asked, his enthusiasm suddenly draining. "Uh, can I just go with the sour cream?"

"Of course you can!" Seth blurted out. "It's Chrismukkah! If you want chocolate sauce on your latkes? It's yours. Captain Crunch? Be my guest."

Ryan wrinkled his nose at Seth. "You are really scaring me now."

"Don't eat too many, guys, the Chinese delivery guy should be here any minute," Kirsten said as she ambled into the living room glancing at her watch.

"Aw. You're just jealous cause I cooked," Sandy said, now grinning at her.

"Well, if you insist, I could try my mom's sugar cookie recipe ag-"

"No!" The resounding sound came from three places at once, all masculine. Kirsten threw up her hands as the doorbell rang.

Ryan tried to hide his grin as she stalked out of the living room. He wound up resting his arm on the edge of the couch and covering his mouth with a fist.

"Okay, fellas," Sandy said. "We got maybe five minutes to eat these before she gets the cartons open. Ready?"

**December 25, 1999. 3:31 p.m.**

He knew before he opened the door that it would be bad. In fact, he'd wanted to stay away all day, and if Eva hadn't been dropping strong hints that he should be with his own family on Christmas, maybe he would have.

She had no idea.

The place was a mess. The lights he'd dutifully tacked up were falling down. The couch pillows were all askew. Mom was in the armchair, her hair falling limply around her face, like she was hiding something.

"_There_ you are!"

He winced at the tone and at Peter, who came tromping back from the bedroom. "Where were you, you little shit?"

"I told you," he said, ignoring Peter, boring his eyes into his mother's hidden face. "I told you last night I was gonna eat at Theresa's today."

He could see her searching for the memory. He knew it wasn't there, and knew she'd been so sloshed the night before that it didn't matter whether he'd said it or not.

"Don't lie to me," Peter said, approaching. Ryan drew back instinctively.

"I wasn't lying to you. I was talking to my mom," Ryan snapped at him, knowing even as he said it that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Where's your brother?"

"Trey? You got me." Ryan tried not to give anything away, but it was hard to hide the stress.

"He's gone. He packed his stuff and he's gone," Mom said softly.

"Oh," was all Ryan said, in a neutral tone.

"Did you know about this?" Peter raged at him.

"Don't look at me. I Just have to live here," Ryan grumbled, shoving past Peter towards his now half-empty room.

"Hey! Smartass!" Ryan kept going, then felt a rough hand on his shoulder, yanking him down. He lost his balance against the force of it and plunged into the coffee table, barely bracing himself with a hard knock to his forearms.

"Where'd he go?"

Ryan wondered for a moment if it was even worth the effort to pull himself back up, but he wasn't about to give Peter the satisfaction of playing dead now. That would almost be a Christmas present, and he was not in the mood.

He leapt up, fighting the smarting pain. "I. Don't. Know! All right?"

"On Christmas," Mom was muttering. "On Christmas."

"You tell your piece of shit brother we never want to see him again," Peter was screaming now, inches from Ryan's face. He drew back and felt the arms grab him roughly to keep him from retreating.

"Yeah, well, not much chance of that," Ryan spat at him.

"What'd you say?"

"You heard me."

Another smack. This one landing him against the wall. "You never learn, do ya?"

"Well, I learned Trey's got the right idea-" Again, he was up, lifted up, and he felt the wall slam into him from behind.

"I said shut up!"

Not gonna play dead. Not gonna let him win. No. Ryan forced himself back up and, in one quick movement, darted past Peter, past the limp Christmas lights, to the bedroom, which was now his bedroom, all by himself. He slammed the door shut behind him.

He leaned against it, breathing heavily. From the other side he could hear his mom's raised voice joining Peter's, pleading for information. Or his head on a platter. Rat Trey out? To this? Not on Ryan's life.

It was probably the best Christmas gift a brother could give.

**December 25, 2003 2:24 p.m.**

"Wow."

Ryan couldn't keep the word from escaping his lips. He glanced at Seth and was dismayed to see the smirk that indicated that Seth had indeed heard.

The two of them stood before the Christmas tree, staring at more presents than Ryan had ever seen outside a department store display.

"Surrender, Dorothy?" Seth asked hopefully.

Ryan meekly shook his head. "And my little dog, too." He hesitated. "Though if there's a puppy in there? I _will_ murder somebody."

"Right. No. No dogs, Mom could never handle it."

"Thank god."

"So as soon as we get the 'rents in here, I guess we can start?"

Ryan dangled his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he walked around and stared at the colorful packages.

"Dad's still got some dishes to finish, it'll be a couple of minutes, if you want..." Seth cast his eyes downward only for a second. "You could get anything else you, uh, wanted."

Ryan crossed his arms. "You mean like Mom and Trey's stuff." He shrugged. "It's probably nothing. Mom had to pick all of it out, and she's not great at that stuff..."

"Well, whatever," Seth muttered, shuffling his feet.

Ryan cocked his head to stare at him. "Why do you care so much?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just, part of you is your family. And it's like you're always - I don't know."

"No, man, say it," he urged.

"Forget it." Seth shook his head and turned to start sorting through the gifts for the thousandth time.

Ryan sighed. "I'll be right back."

He marched his way out of the room, through the kitchen where Sandy was scrubbing his frying pans, past the pool, and in to the pool house, this immaculate, luxurious place he could now almost call his.

He jumped up onto the upper level of the room and moved to the bar, where he fingered the packages sitting there. Would it be any better if they'd forgotten him this Christmas? Probably not. They were still a small part of this odd experience he now called life. A small part was okay. A very small part, like two little wrapped gifts...

Impulsively, before he could stop himself, he grabbed the packages, hopped over the step, and started back for the main house.

The water had stopped in the kitchen where Sandy was now drying his pans. "Ah," he said. "I see you're adding to the pile?"

"Thought I might," Ryan answered evasively. "Cause it's not big enough."

"You sound more like Seth every day."

"Don't scare me like that."

"I'm scared enough for the both of us."

"Two Seths, I'd be scared, too." They exchanged a grin. Ryan hoisted his gifts and the green one toppled to the floor. "Whoops."

"Oh. Here. Let me give you a hand." Sandy dropped his pan on the counter and hurried over to pick it up. "Ah," he said, straightening up. Their eyes met for a moment as he handed the package over. "Well. Tell Rudolph the Chrismukkah Elf I'll be along momentarily."

"Will do," Ryan said amiably as he started for the living room. "Yo! Rudolph!"

**December 25, 1998. 10:01 a.m.**

"Well?"

Ryan took a deep breath as he stared at the shiny black instrument gleaming in the middle of the living room.

"Oh," was all he could say.

Mom's face fell just a little. "Don't you like it?"

"Naw, it's great," Ryan said, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little. He approached it slowly, cautiously, staring at the red bow on the handlebars. "It's just - I just - how...?"

"Been saving for it all month," she said proudly. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do," and now he was close enough to admire the padded seat, the brake system, the spoked wheels... "Wow."

"After the last two years, I just..." She cast her eyes down. "I wanted this one to be special is all."

Hesitantly he reached out to grasp the handlebars. "...Thanks."

"So... are you gonna take it for a spin?"

And there he was, again, alone, coasting down the streets of Chino, California, the breeze whipping his nose to a slight run.

He should have been happy. A year ago he thought having the bike would make everything perfect. And now he had it. So why didn't he feel any better?

He turned the corner and rode past the park where Trey and his buddies liked to hang, but they were gone. All with their families. Trey, for his part, was sleeping off something Ryan was pretty sure was just a night of too much pot.

He could go anywhere now. Freedom. He could get around Chino faster and more independently than ever. It was a terrific gift.

He pulled the bike over at the edge of the park and hopped off, steadying it upright. He kicked the kickstand down viciously.

Ryan stared off across the park, at the empty playground, the broken swing, the monkeybars with the paint that had rubbed off through the years.

The problem was that now he was eleven, not ten, and now he knew the bike didn't mean anything. All it meant was that today, Mom was okay. And Mom being okay today meant that next week she wouldn't be.

He wondered if maybe eleven was just really too old for Christmas. Christmas was for babies. All the elves, and snowmen, and reindeer. Childish nonsense.

Ryan hopped back onto the bike, kicked back the stand, and pushed off, coasting away from the park. He didn't have to be home for two hours. He had plenty of freedom before that.

**December 25, 2003. 2:40 p.m.**

"Just what I always needed!" Sandy's voice boomed through the living room. "Uh - what are these?"

"Homies, Dad. They're collector's items." In response to Sandy's befuddled look, Seth pressed on. "Santa was thinking you'd appreciate them due to your Bronx childhood, and, uh, clearly Santa does not understand the Jews. Okay, Ryan, your turn."

Ryan smiled, shook his head, and plunged his hand into the red felt stocking, emerging with a soccer ball keychain. He held it up to examine it. "Nice." He wondered briefly if anybody on the soccer team would kick his ass if he showed up carrying his keys on that, and decided that the chances were slim. He dropped it to his side.

Seth produced a package of gelt. "That Santa, always coming through like a trooper. Mom, you're up."

Kirsten pulled out a tube of wrinkle cream. "Oh, ha, ha. Whose brilliant idea was this?"

"_What_?" Seth asked defensively. "You use it, don't you?"

She shook her head at him. "You. I should have known.

"So next year I'll stick to chocolate."

"Please do."

"Is it my turn now?" Sandy dug around. "We're getting to the toe now, it's not a pretty sight, and we have..." He pulled out a small box. "I was wondering where the inevitable tie was."

"It's your color, honey," Kirsten said defensively.

"I know, and I love it." He leaned over to kiss her. Seth cringed in mock horror but Ryan felt the corner of his mouth turn up a little.

"Distract the parental units, man. Please," Seth begged, still not turning to look.

Obligingly, Ryan reached into his stocking and held up the dangling piece he produced. "Um. What's this?"

"Cuff links," Sandy explained. "I'll, uh, demonstrate later." Ryan shrugged and laid them in the growing pile beside him.

"Is this a book?" Seth asked, digging his hand out of his stocking. His face fell. "If I'm So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single?"

Kirsten paled. "Sandy?"

"Uh-"

Seth, however, was already wrinkling his nose at Ryan's smirk. "I thought you were skipping the whole stocking thing, dude."

"Yeah, well. I guess I got the Chrismukkah spirit after all."

"Then I accept your gift. In the Chrismukkah spirit." Seth turned his chin up in a huff.

Kirsten shook her head and produced a Godiva box from her stocking. "I knew I could count on Santa for some of the good stuff."

"Dad?"

Sandy pulled out a slim CD case with a printed cover. "What do we have here?"

"Travel mix," Seth said proudly. "From the best of Seth's MP3 collection. For the commute."

"This Santa fellow," Sandy marvelled, "he sure has resources beyond belief, doesn't he? I'll have to check this out."

"Santa will convert you to the joys of emo yet, Dad."

"I await the day with eager anticipation. Ryan?"

Ryan shook his head at the others and thrust his hand down into the toe. He groped around for a moment before his fingers closed around a fist-sized box. He tugged it out.

In the clear plastic box was a small glass globe. A christmas ornament. It was blue, frosted with a white snow effect, and in small white hand-painted calligraphy he could read the words:

"Ryan's First Chrismukkah - 2003"

He felt an odd turning in his stomach as his head shot up, questioning.

"It's for our tree," Kirsten said proudly. "Seth has sixteen years' worth of ornaments up there, we figured we'd get you started."

"Thanks, I... uh, thanks," he said quietly, turning the ornament in his hand carefully. He swallowed as, from the corner of his eye, he saw Seth pull a tie from his stocking.

Ryan laid the ornament down beside him gently.

**December 25, 2002. 9:17 p.m.**

He hurled the ornament at the wall with force. He felt a small twinge of satisfaction as it shattered, the tiny glass shards scattering over the couch.

"C'mere, you little shit," AJ growled at him, but Ryan was too fast, Ryan wasn't hyped up on coke, Ryan beat him. For now. Until he was in the corner and couldn't go any further.

"Don't you fuck with Christmas!"

"The hell!" Ryan blurted out. "It's already ruined! It was ruined when you decided to show up again!" He suddenly remembered the ornament in his other hand and released it, aiming for the window. This one hit the window curtain and bounced off painlessly before crashing to the floor.

"Cut that out!"

"What? I'll pay for 'em. I got more money in my savings than you anyway." He glanced at Mom, but she was no help. Gazing listlessly at the TV like nothing was wrong.

"You're damn right you'll pay for those!"

Ryan felt mortified all of a sudden. "I'm out of here."

"Are you going to Arturo's?" Mom asked, looking up in alarm.

Ryan turned to her in surprise. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"You should be grounded - Dawn, fucking ground the kid."

"He's just a kid, AJ. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"What kind of mother are you?"

"A good one. Figure it out," Ryan snarled at him. "When you come down from your trip, that is."

"Your kid's got a fucking smart mouth, Dawn."

"My kid's fucking smart, AJ. Leave him alone already."

Both Ryan and AJ stared at her in surprise. AJ grumbled something under his breath before stalking out of the front door. Ryan watched him go and released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"He," she shook her head wistfully. "He always winds up ruining things. You'd think we'd know this by now, right?" She smiled as though it were nothing, as though it was a joke. Only it wasn't funny, at all. After a moment, once he was sure AJ wasn't storming back in, Ryan sat down beside her on the sofa. He was still shaking a little. Her arm reached out to rub his back, and he tried to smile at his shoes. It wasn't easy.

"Maybe next year you can dump him for Christmas?" Ryan asked hopefully, only sort-of kidding. And he noted with mild disappointment how quickly she shut down.

"It's hard to be alone at the holidays."

"And it's hard to be together, too. With AJ."

"Ryan... he cares. He wouldn't be so mad about you getting suspended if he didn't."

"He sure has a funny way of showing it."

"That's just AJ, honey."

Ryan was quiet for a moment. He felt his mother's acrylic fingernails gently scratching up and down his back, marking a slow, sad rhythm. "I hate him, Mom."

"Oh, honey," she sighed.

"I do. I really, really do." He took in a deep breath of air and felt his chest contracting in a shudder beneath her ministrations.

"'Hate' is such a strong word..."

"It's the word I mean. I wish he'd go away for good. Never come back."

"He loves us. You and me both."

"Yeah? Well, I wish he'd love us a little bit less." The fingernails stopped, halfway down his back, and the light pressure vanished. He tried not to feel disappointed.

"Next year we'll have a good Christmas, honey. I promise."

Ryan screwed his mouth to the side as he stared up at the ceiling. "Yeah?"

"We'll keep him clean next Christmas. And I'll get us a tree, a real tree, maybe a Douglas fir, how does that sound? With an angel on top?"

He turned back to look at her. "Can we get some of those icicle lights?"

Her face lit up. "Of course we can! We'll have to. Maybe some tinsel for the tree. It's a bitch to clean up, though, you know."

Ryan glanced back down. "You don't have to get tinsel for me, Mom."

"Maybe no glass ornaments next year," she said thoughtfully, and he glanced with sudden shame at the mess on the floor.

"I'll clean it up," he muttered, starting up.

"No, no! You stay put. I'll get that." She flashed him a bright smile, and Ryan felt obligated to smile back. "It's Christmas."

"Yeah," Ryan said, sinking back onto the sofa as Dawn scurried for a dustpan. "It's Christmas."

**December 25, 2003 2:59 p.m.**

"To Ryan, from Sandy and Kirsten," he read aloud, and glanced up. "You guys. Didn't have to do this."

"Don't rain on Mom's parade, just open it already," Seth begged.

"Let him take his time. Don't rush him," Kirsten argued.

Ryan picked at the carefully manicured paper crease until the gold embossed paper came off.

"Oh," Seth said knowingly, "you're one of _those_."

"Guess so," Ryan mumbled half-heartedly as he pulled away the last of it to reveal a white gift box. He opened the lid, and stared at the shiny black dress shoes staring back at him. "Wow. Thanks."

"You know," Kirsten offered, "Those will go nicely with that suit." Which was already in his still-growing pile. "Okay. Next up." She dragged a gift from beneath the tree. "This one's - would you look at that? It's mine."

Sandy's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Oh, be careful with that one."

She tore the paper off wildly as Seth re-shuffled the stack of unopened CD's beside him, and she glanced at the contents. "...Oh," she said, and was she blushing?

"What is it, Mom?" Seth asked, looking up with curiosity.

"Um," she said, clearly red, "who's next?"

"Ow!" Seth exclaimed, as the brick hit. "Dad! Would you please, _please_ not put anything under the tree that Ryan and I do not want to see?"

Kirsten strategically laid a sweater over the box as Sandy grinned at her. She reached for the next package. "Another one for Ryan!"

"You're kidding," Ryan groaned, but set back in to his careful opening ritual. Picking at the tape, carefully unfolding the paper, and revealing the box inside. He lifted the lid. "It's-" He had no words. He stared at the contents. "Wow."

"What is it?" Seth asked, craning his neck.

Ryan pulled one out. "...Photo frames."

"For all the new memories," Kirsten said proudly.

"And... and a camera," he added. "Guys. This is... wow. Thanks."

"They'll go great with the decor in the pool house," Kirsten added. "You can put them up anywhere - we'll help with the mounting, of course."

Ryan licked his lips. "Hey. Can I see those two now?"

"What, these?" Kirsten reached behind the tree and produced the sad, solid-color packages from their corner.

"Yeah. Those." He took them from her and opened the green one quietly. He was aware of all three of them staring at him, and he tried hard to ignore it.

"A shirt," he revealed, holding up the tightly wrapped maroon button-down. "From Trey."

"Oh, well, that's... nice," Kirsten said, glancing to Sandy for reinforcement, who shrugged. Seth glanced down at his CD pile.

Ryan reached for the blue one. The shirt had been pretty obvious, but this one was a harder call. It was a little heavier, and sounded dull, and something had been slippery in there. His senses hadn't quite figured it out just yet.

"To Ryan - Merry Christmas. Love, Mom," he read aloud quietly. He lifted the tape from the corner of the package and carefully pried the thick, crinkly paper back.

It was a book. No, it wasn't a book. It was an album. His heart stopped for a moment. He opened it to the first page. A bathtub, a naked little boy towering over a toddler in the bubbles, their hair doused with suds. He turned the page. Fresno Youth Soccer. Next page. Four of them, beaming happily from the sofa of their house in Fresno. Mom. Dad. Trey. Ryan. Age five, with his favorite Red Ranger toy sitting askew in his arms. The crew haircut he used to wear back then.

He turned the page. Sitting in his mom's lap, still five years old, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Showing every last tooth in his gap-toothed grin. They'd taken that one on her birthday.

Next page. Disneyland. With the Randalls - he hadn't thought about them in years, Mrs. Randall and her five crazy kids.

Again he turned the page. There he was, camping with Trey and Dad. Four pictures. Ryan and Dad holding up a fish in the canoe. Trey pitching the tent. Trey and Ryan swimming in the lake. Trey and Ryan staring wide-eyed from the window of the tent.

Next page. Ryan on his bike. There they were in Chino, suddenly. He knew what was missing. And why.

Five pictures on a page. Snoopy. Looking appropriately doleful in the costume the teachers had made for him.

Another page. Seven little portraits, his school pictures. Second grade, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, eighth, ninth. He'd missed seventh because he had to stay home with his mom that day, and tenth he was playing hooky.

The voices around him rose slightly, bringing him back into focus.

"Maybe we can look? Later," Kirsten was saying.

"What? Yeah, no. Sure." He tried to smile.

"That's sweet of her. To send you those. So you can have your past with you."

Ryan's head shot up sharply at that. "I'm gonna be... out in the pool house." Clutching the book to his chest, he scrambled to his feet and started out.

**December 26, 1996. 10:03 a.m.**

"You eat enough of that chocolate and you'll get sick, you hear?"

"Yeah, Dad. That's the plan?" Trey rolled his eyes as Ryan shoveled another Hershey's Kiss into his mouth, glancing sideways at them.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Dad shuffled away, towards the bedroom.

"We won't!" Ryan called after him, his mouth still full of chocolate. "Hey, Trey! Lemme see your book!" He reached out for the book. Classic Fords.

"No way. When I finish."

"Aw, man!" Ryan pushed himself to his knees and scooted for his own math puzzle book. "I always get all the boring stuff."

"That's what you get for being the smart one," Trey smirked. "Geek."

Ryan launched himself at Trey playfully, and his brother quickly tussled him to the ground, pinning him easily.

"Some day," Ryan heaved, "I'll be bigger." He struggled uselessly against his older brother.

"Sure you will. Squirt. I live for the day."

"Lemme up!"

"No!"

"Dad!"

Dad poked his head out of the bedroom. "Yessir?"

"Dad! Help me!" Ryan begged from beneath his brother.

"Trey?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Don't let him up."

Ryan yelped in mock indignation. "Hey!"

"You heard him," Trey grinned, shifting his weight. Ryan tried to free a limb and failed.

"Keep that kid from eating all that chocolate," Dad added, with only a slight twinkle in his eye. "I think he's had plenty of sugar."

"No! No, I haven't! Mom! Help!" Ryan bellowed.

"Mom's still at the Randalls," Trey smirked. "Two against one."

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it?" Ryan asked hopefully.

"Ha!"

"You get it?" he tried again.

"I got it," Dad sighed, picking his way around the boys and towards the front hall.

"No fair," Ryan insisted lamely.

"When you're a big brother, you can beat up your little brother," Trey offered.

"Gee, thanks, moron, if Mom didn't have her tubes tied that'd be fantastic," Ryan sniffed.

Trey kneed him in the stomach. "That's gross!"

"It's true!"

"Shut up!"

"_You_ shut up!"

"No, I mean it," Trey said, and Ryan quit struggling and perked his ears up. "Shut up."

"What? Now?" Dad was saying to the visitors in the hallway.

The force holding Ryan down grew slack, and Trey climbed off of him. Ryan quickly clambered to his feet to follow Trey into the hall.

"Boys. Go to your room. Now," Dad said fiercely, but not before Ryan saw the uniformed officers at the door. He backed up out of sight as Trey did the same, only Trey moved too fast and backed straight in to Ryan, squashing his foot. Ryan bit back a yelp.

"Ow!"

"My wife's out," they heard Dad saying. "Can't we at least wait for her? I can't leave my boys alone."

"Leave?" Ryan blurted out before Trey could clap a hand over his mouth. "Mmmph!"

"We'll have somebody stay with them until she arrives, don't worry. Is there a way to reach her?"

"What's going on?" Trey asked nervously.

"Mmph?" Trey released Ryan's mouth and Ryan tried again. "How should I know?"

"I don't - no, I - I don't know," Dad was saying.

"Dad!" Trey tore back into the hall, Ryan tripping at his heels. "What's going on?"

"You fellas gonna be okay here?" Dad was asking. Later, Ryan would remember the static chatter from the police woman's radio. He would remember the nippy December air coming in through the door, falling on the bare arms his t-shirt revealed. He'd remember the sound of "Jingle Bell Rock" drifting from his parents' bedroom, and the Christmas lights blinking oddly at him from the door. Later, Ryan would remember everything.

"Where are you going?" Trey asked again, and Ryan could take it no more.

"They're arresting him, dumbass!"

"Do you guys mind?" Dad whispered to the cop, still in Ryan's earshot, "if we do this where my boys ain't watchin'? Seeing how it's Christmas?"

"We can step outside," the cop agreed.

"Dad, no!" Trey protested.

"Uh, you two," Dad said. "Go to your room. Wait for your mom."

"Dad?" Ryan started.

"Now!"

Ryan had heard that tone before and knew what it meant, and once again he was tripping at Trey's heels, back in to the bedroom.

Only as he pulled the door behind them did Ryan notice how much Trey was shaking. "Hey, man? You okay?"

"Okay? Okay? They just-" Trey was near tears. Ryan had never seen such a sight before, and wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Hey. You heard him. Mom will be home soon."

"Oh, god... oh, god..."

"Dad'll be home soon, too. You'll see. Everything will be fine." Ryan hoped he sounded as convinced as he felt.

"No. It won't. Ryan-"

"It's Christmas," Ryan said. He said it again. He needed to hear it. "It's Christmas. It's Christmas." He licked his lips. "It'll be okay. Soon."

He cringed as Trey hurled a pillow across the room, and watched as his brother collapsed, ashen-faced, on the bed. He knew that as much as Trey didn't believe it, neither did he.

**December 25, 2003. 3:22 p.m.**

He'd shoved it as far away as he could, beneath a stack of Kirsten's towels on the shelves on the far wall, but it wasn't far away enough.

How dare she? After everything else she'd done. How could she try to act like they were all a happy family? Smiling faces, sweet memories, the kind of thing they always tried to present to the outside world. Ryan knew the truth. It was all a charade, and now they were scattered to the four corners of the earth, his own family a distant memory. Only not so distant, because it was still fresh, all of it, and he felt it as what should have healed by now was ripped open wide again.

How _dare_ she?

Didn't she realize he didn't have to be that person anymore? Here was his clean slate, his fresh start, and now Kirsten would innocently persuade him to put the past up in the pool house with the present, and he'd passively go along with it, and then he'd be the old Ryan Atwood all over again and everything would come crumbling back down just as he was trying to rebuild.

Kirsten. She still treated him like he'd sprung into their lives a fully-formed, innocent newborn babe. He didn't mind. He kind of liked going along with her fantasy. Pretending the only life he'd ever had was this one, comfortable, relaxed, privileged in this monstrous home with people who were, well, mostly normal. It came so easily sometimes.

And now they had proof. Hard evidence refuting the fantasy that he was theirs. That he could reach out and be a part of that family. No, here was a boy who sat grinning from beneath a crewcut with his Red Ranger, so happy to be another boy with another father and mother and brother. A boy who once went to Disneyland and laughed while he was there. Who once hugged Mama on her birthday and showed every tooth left in his mouth to the camera.

It was another life with his face. Trying to conquer his new life. And he hated it.

A knock sounded at the door. He sighed. He didn't want to see anyone right now. "Come in." But he would.

Sandy peeked around the door. "Hey, kiddo, we're gonna dig in to the rum cake in a minute. Want some?"

"Naw," Ryan said, trying to force a smile. "Not hungry. Thanks."

Sandy moved inside, pulling the door closed behind him. "It's not that bad now, is it?"

Ryan shook his head. "I'm fine. I just-" He took a deep breath. "I really. Don't like holidays."

"Well, between Kirsten and Seth, you are in the wrong house for that."

"Maybe I'm just in the wrong house, period." He was surprised at his own words. He hadn't meant to say that. "Uh - sorry."

"No, it's okay. It's natural to feel that way, this time of year."

"Look," Ryan said sharply. "I'm not in the mood for a speech. I just want to be alone."

"Too bad." Now Sandy looked a little surprised at his own words, but he pressed on. "You're a part of our family now."

Ryan glanced across the room to where he'd hidden the photo album. Sandy caught the giveaway.

"You'll always be a part of the family you grew up with. But part of growing up for everyone is creating new families. I know it's not the same, but I didn't know Kirsten or Seth yet when I was your age."

Ryan allowed himself a small smile. "That's cause Seth wasn't born."

"Well, yeah. But like it or not, this is not the last Chrismukkah you're spending with us. It may be the hardest, sure..."

"I said I wasn't in the mood for a speech," Ryan snapped.

"And I said I wasn't listening."

"I don't know where I'll be next Chris...mukkah," he pointed out. "Last year I had no clue what was coming. Last year I thought I'd be putting up tinsel and icicle lights this year." He didn't feel like explaining himself, and instead lowered his head to inspect a hangnail.

"Doesn't matter. Part of being a family, wherever you go, you're still with the ones you love."

Ryan swallowed, hard, and turned away. Somehow, the words had hit him in a place he didn't want to touch, didn't want to feel.

"They don't have to be with you," Sandy continued. "They don't _have_ to come through for you. Maybe they let you down. It's still okay to love them."

Ryan clutched the back of the barstool and closed his eyes. "Do you _have_ to love them?"

"It's up to you." Sandy was silent for a short moment. "We'll be eating the rum cake. If you want some."

Ryan waited for the door to open and close, and waited again until he was sure Sandy was back in the main house.

He walked across the room and took out the photo album. He opened it and it fell on the school pictures.

He stared at his own face. The bright-eyed little boy with a crewcut and eager grin. The next year, a bowl haircut and a nervous look in his eyes. The progression, the skepticism and weariness that came with growing up as Ryan Atwood.

He moved over to the bed and dropped down on all fours to pull out a box. It was mostly empty, but there was a package of photos he'd taken with a disposable camera over the past few months and developed at the drug store for eight bucks. Most of them were silly. Ryan trying Seth's skateboard. Seth cannon-balling in to the pool. Him and Marissa goofing off in the pool house.

There he was after his first soccer game for Harbor, in uniform, all grassy stains. Looking slightly embarrassed to be caught at such a moment with a beaming Sandy.

He stopped on a picture Seth had snapped at the beach. Ryan staring out at the ocean. He held the picture next to the seven-year-old happy crewcut Ryan picture. He was shocked to see how old he looked. When had he grown up that much?

He flipped back to the picture of himself and Trey in the bathtub, and stared over at the picture of himself and Seth posing like gangsters on the boardwalk. Seth, goofy Seth, pulling a baseball cap down low over his eyes. He couldn't look less like a gangsta rapper if he tried.

Some people had more than one brother. Maybe it was okay to have two.

**December 25, 1992. 7:15 a.m.**

"Cowabunga, dude! Cowabunga, dude!"

Again he pressed on the yellow plastic.

"Cowabunga, dude!"

Ryan lowered the doll as he heard Mama enter behind him. "Where's my elf?" was all she had to ask, and something sounded wrong, she sounded weary and weak, but Ryan didn't know what that meant and instead barrelled into her arms.

She fell back on to the rug, laughing at his energy, at his spark.

"Santa brought me what I asked for!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes bright.

"Oh, he did?" Trey asked with a smirk, appearing in the doorway, slouching against the doorframe.

"You? Hush up," Mama snapped, pointing a warning finger at him.

"He did," Ryan said, holding up the doll, confused. "See it?"

"Oh, I see it..."

"Trey Atwood, don't you dare."

Trey sighed. "Merry Christmas, squirt." He vanished again.

Mama struggled to sit up, and Ryan curled in her arms, turning his doll over and over in his hands, eagerly.

"Cowabunga, dude!"

He smiled to himself as he pressed back against her, enjoying the warmth of his mother in the cold, unheated air of the house. She tucked her arms around him and pulled him close.

"I can't wait to show Daddy," Ryan said.

"Daddy's working today, peanut." Her voice was so quiet.

"Christmas Day is my favorite day," Ryan declared absent-mindedly as he rubbed the doll's shirt between his fingers. "When do we get to eat the cookies?"

"After breakfast."

"What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes?"

"Yeah!" he enthused. "I definitely like Christmas Day best."

She gently kissed the top of his head. "That's my boy." She whispered words into his hair. "You are just the best little boy ever. You know that."

"Not little anymore, Mama."

"Oh! I know."

"I'm gonna be big and strong," he said quietly. "Just like Trey. And Daddy."

"Or better."

"Mama!" he snickered. "No, I'm not."

She smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I love you so much. My little boy."

"I'm big!"

"My littlest," she tried again.

Ryan swelled with pride even as he bit the inside of his cheek. "Love you, too, Mama." He rested his cheek on her chest as he stared at the yellow plastic spikes of hair on his doll. He felt her chest rise and fall with her heavy breathing, felt the shudder hidden there, and didn't know why. He thought he could hear her heart beating just under his ear, or maybe it was his. He wasn't sure.

His scalp tickled as she gently rearranged his hair. He tucked his legs in and he felt safe. Here, with Mama, he was safe. Only Mama could touch him, and nothing could hurt him without getting past her first. Nothing could hurt him.

Ever.

**December 25, 2003. 7:15 p.m.**

Ryan twisted the fasteners on the frame, and turned it over. Dawn really had been that young and beautiful once. Happy? Maybe not. He didn't know. He'd been too young to tell.

Or maybe he hadn't.

He didn't really remember.

He wondered if she was happy now. Wherever she'd ended up. He wondered if she was sober yet. If she had a boyfriend, if she missed him, if she still loved him.

He still loved her. He was pretty sure, anyway. Because if she'd take him back, he'd give her every chance now.

Because that was how much he missed her.

Ryan flipped the frame back over and shoved it into a stack of towels. He couldn't look at it.

_"It's still okay to love them..."_

On second thought, he pulled the picture back out. Maybe it could go... somewhere he didn't have to see it _all_ the time. In the bathroom. Or something.

With a sharp raise of his eyebrows, Ryan strode in to the bathroom. Kirsten wouldn't mind if he took the starfish off the wall. He laid the specimen gently on the sink and carefully hung the picture of the smiling young mother and her happy little boy.

"Got anywhere for a starfish?" he called out to Seth, who was stretched out on the futon with his Gameboy Advance.

"Yeah. The garbage. Dead fish. Gross," Seth said distractedly.

"Your mom wouldn't want to-?"

"She'll never notice, dude."

Still, Ryan left the dried fish on the sink as he moved back out to the room. He'd check with her later.

"So?" Seth asked. "Was it a good Chrismukkah?"

"The best," Ryan said. "And the worst, kind of the only one. So. No comparisons?"

Seth rolled his eyes. "Damn you gentiles. Spoiling everything. So how did it compare to Christmas?"

Ryan stopped to consider. "Not bad," he mused. "Not bad at all."

"Hey, thanks. Snoopy."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "You ever gonna let that go?"

"Let me think. No. It's golden, man."

Ryan reached for the photo album and trotted over to Seth with it. "Okay. I give in. But. You can't show this to anybody."

Seth laid the GameBoy aside as his eyes lit up. "No way. It's in there?"

Ryan collapsed beside him and flipped to the Snoopy page. He marked it with his finger and held the book tightly shut. "If you can shut up about the Snoopy thing, I'll let you see."

"Deal! Deal! Oh, nice ears," Seth said approvingly as he wrested the book away.

"That's Theresa, right there," Ryan said, pointing.

"Oh, Marissa's new best friend."

Ryan sighed. "Yeah, aren't they all?"

Seth paused. "I mean it. Those ears are priceless."

"Nine ninety-nine at Party City." Ryan took a deep breath. "Pair of dog ears, nine ninety-nine. Price of a ticket, four bucks, roll of film, seven ninety-seven at Wal-Mart. Getting you to shut up with the Snoopy wisecracks? Now, that's-"

"Priceless," Seth chimed in with him.

"For real," Ryan agreed.

Seth turned the page back. "Hey. That's Trey?"

"Yeah. He's like, maybe seven there. And that's me."

Seth stared at the picture. "See, your parents, at least they hide the privates in the baby bathtub photos. Mine let the whole world see."

"That's child abuse," Ryan noted.

"You said it, buddy. This is your dad?" Seth pointed to another picture.

"Yeah, that's him," Ryan said, his voice even.

"Huh." Seth leaned closer. "You have the same mouth. And he's kinda got the same build as you."

"Really?" Ryan asked, looking over his shoulder. "Guess so. We always thought Trey looked more like him, and I looked more like Mom."

"That was nice of your mom, right? To let you keep these?" Seth asked.

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I guess it was." He licked his lips. "It's kind of weird, you know? Having these here. Now."

He didn't need to say any more. He could see by the look in Seth's eyes that he understood. "Weird, but good?" Seth asked. "Right?"

Ryan paused, considering. "Actually," he said, "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it." He picked up the Gameboy and carried it to the bed as Seth continued to pore over the pictures. "Hey. You think we would have gotten along if we'd met when we were five?" Ryan asked as he settled down on the comforter.

Seth wrinkled his forehead. "Nobody liked me when I was five."

"Nobody liked you when you were sixteen. So?"

"It depends, I guess," Seth mused. "I don't know, were you obsessed with Power Rangers?"

"Oh, god," Ryan said, leaning forward and dropping the Gameboy on the bed. "_Was_ I?"

Seth turned the page again. "Ah. Wow. Yeah. Wow! Hey, I had that same Red Ranger," he crowed. "That is too funny." He paused. "I bet it's still in the garage somewhere."

"Really? Still?"

"Still."

"Let's go look," Ryan suggested. "C'mon."

Seth slammed the photo album shut. "You got it."

He dropped it on the futon and bounced up, headed for the door. Ryan climbed off the bed to follow him, then stopped. On second thought, he doubled back, picked up the abandoned photo album, and carefully set it on the nightstand. Maybe later he could show Marissa the pictures. She'd like to see them. And Sandy and Kirsten probably wanted to see, too.

"Hey Rudolph," he called after Seth. "Slow down there, I'm coming, too!"


End file.
